Simulation
by Ma Chat
Summary: For the fanfic50 LJ community. Fifty tales of Beyond Birthday and L, from sorrow to love and the things that may have been. Theme 3; alone. It was only in the morning that L saw him.
1. Final Requiem

**Title: **Final Requiem

**Prompt: **# 1 - Finish

**Rating: **PG

**Word Count: **371

**Summary: **Love is contained in the body's lifeless eyes and life is contained in the ribbons that bind the hands. Beyond Birthday makes his gift a thing of impeccable beauty.

**Notes: **Not all of the prompts will be written in this style; I just got finished reading _The Pearl_, and it just happened to spill over here. The "ribbons" are only figurative if you want them to be. Written slightly from B's point of view.

_Dedicated to Jess (__**silvereyesish**__) for being a great friend and fellow role-player. _

* * *

He ties the ribbons loosely. This _is_ his gift, after all. The ribbons are limp against pallid skin. He does not dare tighten them.

In theory, he can wrap his present in extravagant coverings, adorn it with burnished, wonderful things. He can paint over it entirely, even. But these things will never do -- the ribbons are quite enough. Red strands decorate the body, hang from various places. He had loved these places once, but now there are the ribbons and the ribbons only. The silk brushes under his fingers, hands gliding against the cloth; his touches are feather light. He had loved these places, hands and feet and wrists and ankles.

The small expanses of exposed skin are cold, chilling to touch as he moves his hands over them. The skin is cold, the skin, lifeless.

There are no ribbons concealing the face. He'd hated the face the most -- no love is contained there, for the tongue is deceitful and the lips even more so, and he had been swayed by these things many a time and they were by far the most influential aspects. Tantalizing kisses had made him a weak man.

Ribbons are wrapped around the eyes several times because the eyes are never false, and he knows this and the body knows this. Beneath the layers of silk, the eyes remain open so that they can see red and only red for the rest of eternity, and the hands are clasped together as though in prayer. It is a final requiem.

His gift is to be admired, he thinks. A few locks of dark hair escapes the ribbon confinement, and he touches them and then touches the ribbons. The hair is still warm, and the lips are still warm from the heat of his own. The lips can make no statement, but he feels the words, and they burn through his fingers and lips and bleed from his eyes until he cannot see.

A final requiem of solace, a conclusive song of bittersweet sorrow that lingers in the air and on his tongue. The ribbons are tied loosely so that even the clumsiest of hands can unfasten them. And the requiem continues far beyond the finish.


	2. Pieces Away

**Title: **Pieces Away

**Prompt: **# 2 - Nothing

**Rating: **PG

**Word Count: **284

**Summary: **It was always nothing.

**Notes: **Prompt 2 complete. This was kind of really confusing, and that was sort of intentional. Next time I'll try to write something less vague, I promise.

**- - - -**

It was always nothing. The lips against L's, nothing, the hands on his thighs sliding upward, inch by inch, just nothing. L could tell himself this forever, squeeze his eyes shut and pretend that none of it was real, make believe that everything was just a terrible dream that he never wanted to wake up from. He loved it so much that it hurt.

And he wanted them to go away, those hands, wanted to push them back and shout and cry for all the things that had been nothing. He would say things, too, sometimes, tell the man that was always rendered hollow and anything but nothingness (because he was everything, every sickening detail of L's days that made him scream until his throat was raw and pull his hair until his knuckles were swollen) all of these things, try and give some sort of signal that he knew it was not real.

Those hands would not slink back, despite his efforts, and L wondered if it was all in vain, everything he had tried to do, tried to stop. Beyond Birthday was always there, always, always touching, always making him feel things that he knew were nothing, even if that man could make it seem as though he mattered.

The kisses were not there, they were nothing, too; L locked them away and prayed for the burn of his lips to fade, for the warmth of his skin to melt away so that the heat would not escape. He would seal it away and give it no choice but to be nothing with the other things.

So he tried; really, he did, and even in that failure he knew that when he visited the next day, it would still be nothing. The scene would be the same, those hands, tearing him inside out and making him feel whole and incomplete, and he was positive that when he left it would still just be nothing.

(And he would wish for sleep that night and think that maybe it was something, after all.)


	3. Apocalypse Please

**Title:** Apocalypse Please

**Prompt: **# 3 - alone

**Rating: **PG

**Word Count: **354

**Summary: **It was only in the morning that L saw him.

**Notes: **Prompt 3. Used a different style of writing, and I guess I like it. Hope you like it too, Jess, and all other readers. (Also, I am well aware of the fact that in the series L does not sleep. Please do not mention it, because I don't care.)

**- - - -**

L could see him in the mornings. Beyond Birthday was always there, and L could see him perfectly, though the rays of morning sunlight were harsh against his eyes. If not for the man beside him, he would close them again. B was always there, laying next to him, and his eyes were wide but calm with a smoldering glint that L thought only he could pick out hiding underneath. He would say nothing, just stare, and was motionless; not a part of his body budged.

L could hear him, too, could hear the soft rhythm of his breathing. It was deep and calm and melodic, and L loved the very sound of it. It made him sure that B was real, because he could hear so it so keenly, and not even the sharpest of ears could hear it as he did. He could almost hear B's heartbeat, he thought, and would close his eyes for just a moment to see if this were true.

It was. And he opened his eyes again.

L noted the steady rise and fall of the man's chest, noted the way his arms were stretched out in front of him. And he wanted to touch him somehow but could not, and he knew that he couldn't, his hands fumbling dumbly across the sheets. His eyes were so focused, straight ahead, never straying from B. He thought that it would be this way forever, because his fingers were so, so close. No feeling, though; he could never feel.

L could see him in the mornings when his head was not so clear. His eyes and mind created an image that made him smile and wish that there had been another chance. It could have been, maybe, but at least he could see him even if he was not there. And at least it seemed almost real, the man's smirk, the way his palms were opened against the sheet, the silent fire in his eyes.

L could see him then, but he knew that it was but himself in the bedroom, and even then he did not feel alone.


	4. Lost, Not Found

**Title: **Lost, Not Found

**Prompt: **# 4 - desperate

**Rating: **PG

**Word Count: **356

**Summary: **He tried sometimes to keep up. But even the best can fall behind.

**Notes: **None of you will probably understand this, but I don't care.

**- - - -**

Even the best can fall behind. Beyond Birthday paces in his mind and tries to fit the pieces together, but the ending result is no less confusing than what he had been given to begin with. And so he thinks, idly, that maybe this is not the time or place or life that he is meant to lead.

He touches walls and people, and they slip from his fingers like a portion of something beautiful. L is there, but L is always there and B clenches his teeth and cries out in fury. Had he not been there, what would be the final product? Would he be in a better place, would _he _be in a better life?

Better people, he thinks, that can do better things. B has been the best, and yet he is the worst and he knows that there are better things for L. And oh, he'd keep up if he could---he's tried time and time again, but fate is quicker than his hands. A heart is quicker than fate, however, and B wonders if his has ever really been there at all.

L is there, pacing with them, but they don't say a word to one another or even spare a passing glance. B thinks that it should have been like this, thinks that the first "I love you"s were mistakes---glitches in destiny that he would like to erase.

Now he is blind but sees far too much, and he can't sleep and he can't eat because he wonders if L is doing these things. He wonder if, somewhere, L is happy.

Without him.

He wonders if this world is made of lies, or if the world is real at all. He can't count the stars, but God knows how he'd like to. He'd count the stars and bring them back--

--if only just to be back again.

(And these lies are lies are lies, and B knows that he has fallen.)


End file.
